An English Lord's Love Affair

Chapter 12.3.2. Private Fantasy

   They dined on herbed roast pheasant, potatoes in hot buttered parsley, and apple tarts smothered in clotted cream. A string quartet from the village played medieval melodies in the long gallery above. Sir Edward could not have been a more attentive host. Yet Charlotte's sense of discomfort persisted. Edward was almost too polite, too at ease in Benedic's role. And Bernard had served under him. She wanted to ask more about her brother, but some instinct stopped her.

   Her attention began to wander. Uncle Humphrey and Sir Edward were speculating on the future of France's aristocracy. She pictured Benedic sitting at the other end of the massive table in evening dress. His masterful personality suited the dark elegance of the house.

   She could imagine his holding a silver goblet in masculine fingers, that taunting smile on his face. She could almost feel his brooding gray eyes moving over her in that understated, insolent way he had. She took a deep sip of wine. Had he really dared to seduce her while she slept? As if taking Bernard's letter hadn't been impertinent enough.

   The private fantasy, pretending Benedic was sitting here at this table, warmed Charlotte's blood. She would dearly love to tell him one last time what a cheeky black-guard he was. Imagine his caressing her dreamy self as she was asleep. What gall, to take advantage of her, to make her respond to him like that. If—

   "Are you all right, Lady Charlotte?" Sir Edward's lilting voice intruded on her inappropriate thoughts. "Your face looks flushed. Perhaps it is wrong of us to be discussing the guillotine regime at the table."

   Charlotte found herself at a loss for words. Unfortunately, Aunt Penelope filled in the awkward void by announcing, "Perhaps she is sharing my unease, Sir Edward."

   "Unease?" Sir Edward inquired, casting a curious look at Charlotte.

   "This house is haunted," Aunt Penelope announced, expelling a breath through her nose. "Do you not sense it?"

   Sir Edward looked a little embarrassed. "I cannot say that I have heard any clanking chains in the night or inhuman moaning. Perhaps you ladies need a bit of exercise to chase away these maudlin thoughts. A walk in the long gallery or conservatory while Sir Humphrey and I enjoy a brandy in the library might reassure you."

   "That is an excellent idea," Aunt Penelope said, and Charlotte should have known from how quickly the woman leaped at the chance that she had an ulterior motive in mind. "Come, girls, let us stroll off the excesses of our excellent dinner."

   Sir Edward rose to escort the three women to the door. But just as they were departing, he said, "One warning, dear ladies. While I do not believe you will encounter my nephew's maligned spirit, there is a remote possibility you will come across that dog of his."

   "His dog?" Paulina asked in surprise. "Whatever do you mean?"

   He gave a quiet laugh. "That vexing hound he owned. For several weeks it has been tearing up the garden and running loose in the woods. I told the gamekeeper we should have it put down, but he balked until the wretched animal disappeared a day or so ago. I should hate to have it reappear to my guests."

   "I am not afraid of his lordship's dog," Aunt Penelope retorted. "The poor creature is probably bereft with grief. The viscount was an avid hunter and horseman," she added with obvious approval. "No matter what has been said about him, he had a way with animals."

   "And women," Paulina added in an undertone to Charlotte.

   Charlotte bit her tongue to keep from revealing that she had a little personal experience on the subject herself. Fortunately, this time, Aunt Penelope intervened to offer her own opinion, whispering, "You heard that, girls. The viscount's dog can perceive his master's presence. Animals sense these things, I tell you. That ghost must be laid to rest once and for all, even if I must take him on myself."

   That was too much for Charlotte and Paulina. They burst into irreverent giggles as Penelope herded them up the wide black oak staircase to the long gallery that overlooked the entrance vestibule. In past days families had taken light exercise and played games in the spacious walkway. Lovers had strolled hand in hand and kissed by moonlight in the alcoves.

   Paulina went off into a fresh round of giggling as she examined the ancestral portraits on the wall. Charlotte laughed, too, but she was secretly disappointed that she did not find a painting of Benedic to study.

   It would have been safer to scold his portrait than to face him in the flesh again.

   The sound of Charlotte's lightened laughter penetrated the walls to the dark gloom where Benedic was hiding. He could feel her vibrant energy lifting his lonely melancholy. The lure of her voice tempted him to leave his prison to see her again. It tortured him to know she was here, in his own house, and he could not take her into his arms.

   He wanted more than that, far more, if the truth be told. He wanted passionately to know Charlotte Brumidge inside out, to win her admiration and prove himself a hero in her eyes. He wanted to come out of hiding and become a human being again.

   He began to pace in the cramped airless space that served as his self-imposed cell. How unfair that he would meet her at the lowest ebb of his life. No doubt he had disgusted her. Even if he managed to have and emerge alive, he would never be allowed to court her. Her brothers would rightly label him a devil and eat him raw.

   Should he survive.

   He was willing to see his revenge through to the death. Nothing was going to interfere.

   Her laughter echoed tauntingly down the gallery, and he gazed up through the crevice in the wall, aching to see her just one more time. He had tormented himself by reliving their kisses, their heated words, by conjuring up in vivid detail the detail the scent and feel of her supple body. He could not believe she had come here to his house. So near and yet beyond his reach. As if by his desire he had drawn her to him.

   And she was laughing. Dining at the table with his enemy. Dancing down the hallway where his murderer had walked. Charming the power-hungry man who could kill a human being as easily as he could a fly.

   Benedic had not given her adequate warning.

   She had no idea how deadly Sir Edward could be.

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